


Moments That The Words Don't Reach

by macaroniandmadison



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Depression, M/M, Self-Harm, Triggers, james being a concerned boyfriend, tommy needing love, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 17:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10443558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macaroniandmadison/pseuds/macaroniandmadison
Summary: Thomas has been acting very...off and James notices. He didn't think much of his boyfriend's strange behavior at first but soon the signs become clear that it's not just the result of a bad day. No, this is much worse...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this story has trigger warnings involving depression and self-harm! Don't read if you're affected by those sort of things. Also this is my first Hamilton story so go easy on me please! I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading! <3

Thomas has lost weight -- too much and James could see it.

  
The man has always been lean and muscular, what other people would call lanky but James Madison could remember clear as day, tracing his fingertips along the toned abs and wrapping his hands around hard biceps before pushing his chin up for a kiss.

  
He's lost weight. He wasn't as...bouncy lately, loud voice grown into a hushed whisper that he barely uses anymore and James knew the others waved off his worries as nothing but over-protectiveness. They couldn't see that something _broke_ inside of Thomas. _Thomas_. Not Jefferson, no that was only out in public, in meetings, addressing each other formally. _Jefferson_. _Madison_. It was 'Thomas' he whispered when he wanted the man to listen to him, to know that he was there when he needed him. He's always needed him, not that he'd admit in public. But he did.

  
Which is why it hurt James more than anything that he'd keep something as important as this from him. They told each other almost everything and he would've hoped that would include their own health. It was obvious, physically, that James got more sick than the average man -- coughing fits, shortness of breath but that was something James learned to live with. He'd survive.

  
But this was different, James knew. Thomas wasn't coughing, he didn't need to sit down after a while. He damn well didn't look close to death but when James looked at him lately, it seemed like something did die in him. It was that 'something' that caused his physical appearance to wear thin. The crooked, thin smile Thomas gave him nowadays was a mere shadow compared to the one he gave James when he first saw him after a few years of being in Paris. He was animated, happy....happy.

  
Thomas wasn't happy now. The man could smile and listen and talk cheerfully enough when addressed but that wasn't happy. There was no brightness in his eyes and he seemed to need his cane now more than ever. At first, James thought that thing was all for show but as he watched Thomas grip the handle with white-knuckled fingers, it might've proved useful after all.

  
"Thomas....Thomas!"

  
He gave a start and looked up at James with a surprised look before it settled into an easy grin -- not that James was fooled. "What? Keep up your shouting, mister and you'll need to sit down. And I like looking at your body all rigid and-"

  
"Thomas," James insisted, this time more firmly. Thomas' grin faded from his face and he raised his brows, looking politely taken aback. "It's not funny. Now is not the time."

  
"Nothing has ever been less funny, Jimmy," Thomas commented, letting out a breath of air and reclining back in his seat. "Your health is no joking matter, I'd hate for you to get real sick again."

  
"Which is why I need to talk to you about yours. You're right, it's not a joking matter. So don't answer me with one, answer me with the truth." As he spoke, James walked over to sit besides his curly-haired friend and gently placed a hand on his thigh. "You know I care about you, right?"

  
Thomas stared at him quietly for a moment, James knowing his mind working at a million miles per hour to come up with some sort of excuse, a sassy remark or a flirty one to change the course of this conversation. James wouldn't let him though. He needed to know what caused this drastic change.

  
"James, what are you talking about now? Of course I know you care, so care about me enough to understand there's not a thing in this world I'd keep from you. I don't know what you're on about, what the hell you'd think _might_ be wrong with me but I'm _okay_." And _**god**_ , James hoped he was, hoped without a shadow of a doubt that he was wrong about him. That he was being as overprotective as the others claimed but he knew in his gut that something was wrong.

  
"You're hurting..." James whispered the same second his mind wrapped itself around the fact.

  
"I'm sorry, what?"

  
"Get to bed," He told him quickly, noticing that Thomas did indeed heard him and tensed up, a look in his eyes like he's never even considered the fact but now knew it to be true. And he was not okay. "You...you need sleep. It's late enough, besides...you have a meeting at dawn if I remember."

  
James could almost see the walls that Thomas was starting to construct inside him, the protests building up inside him. But there was also a sort of gratefulness in there, that James wasn't pushing him. Wasn't prying. Thomas must've knew that this topic would be continued further down the lane but for now, he was just...grateful.

  
There were few words exchanged as James helped him to their bedroom, pretending not to notice the little stumble and the sharp intake of breath when Thomas started walking. He pulled the long, purple coat from thin shoulders and Thomas didn't bother shedding much else, besides his shoes, as he lowered himself into the bed. He didn't say a word as James brushed his wild hair back and kissed him sweetly on the forehead.

  
But when James turned to go, his hand snaked out and grabbed his. James looked down at him, visibly taken aback but he calmed when he saw the glint in Thomas' eyes.

  
"You're too good for me, Jimmy," He cooed, lifting the hand to his lips and kissing it gently.

  
"I know. And maybe you're not good enough," was his soft, teasing response that brought a good-natured chuckle from Thomas' mouth before he fell asleep with more ease than James thought possible.

  
He watched him for a moment, his lips turning down into a sad grimace. His hand was still in Thomas' and as he leaned down quietly besides the bed, he covered the hand with his other. James sighed, watching the sleeping man with dull eyes and a mind wracking itself full of questions and possible answers that could help him...help them.

  
"I....I need you to be good enough, Thomas. I _need_ you to..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter contains self-harm, please do not read if you are triggered by it*

When James pounded on Thomas' door the fifth time with his fist, there still wasn't an answer. He figured Thomas just slept in late, that a good thump or two on the door would've rose him up but he was starting to grow increasingly worried. Thomas' meeting started a half an hour ago and it wasn't going to be much of a meeting without the person who set it up. He knew Thomas was still in there, seeing as no one saw him leave the house and everything was exactly the way it was left last night.

  
James had to go deal with a family matter last night, leaving Thomas sound asleep in his bed. This morning he came back, he was met with the same silence. The door was locked. No sound was coming from the room. James let out an aggravated sigh and turned to go look for anyone of the servants that might've had a spare key when James heard it: a soft, pitiful groan.

  
"Thomas!" He banged his fist against the door once more which resulted in him hunching over, coughing into the white handkerchief he normally kept with him. Once he settled down, he heard it again and this time, he knew it was Thomas. He thought he said his name....

  
James listened once more. Another second. Another...

  
"Ja...mes?"

  
"Thomas!" James' response was immediate and he pressed his ear against the wood, trying to decipher any other words the man might've been saying. There was no response to this either but then the door was opening and James barely had time to take in Thomas' appearance before the man was shoving him side and stumbling into the bathroom opposite the room. "What's wrong?" James took a glance into the bedroom but for the brief second he looked, only saw the unmade bed.

  
The silence was killing James and he knew he wasn't going to get an answer as long as Thomas was like this. So he gritted his teeth and marched into the bedroom, his eyes searching for anything that could've caused this nerve-wracking behavior.

  
If he didn't think something was up before, this definitely confirmed it. Thomas Jefferson was never one to hide away like a small child petrified of the dark. It just wasn't like him to stay cooped up in his room.

  
Then his eyes rested on the bed, on the spot Thomas clambered out of to get to the door. There was a red stain near the pillow and James knew right away it was blood.

  
"Tommy, what did you do..." James whispered, his breathing starting to increase by the second as he quickly turned and went to the bathroom where his friend shielded himself from the happenings of the world. His hand went to the doorknob. It turned.

  
James pushed himself into the bathroom and it was there he saw Thomas in front of the sink, head bowed and water running. At the sudden intrusion, he jumped but didn't turn to face him.

  
"Tommy?" James asked, taking slow steps towards him and reaching out to take hold of his shoulder. He's only ever used the name to annoy Thomas or when the pressure of the whole presidency was settling in and he couldn't breathe. James knew how Thomas could strut around the room like he owned the place the same way he owned people, moving with an ease that suggested he's been handed everything since he could hold things. But he also knew what he kept inside - how Thomas' chest felt like it was caving in when he was about to give a speech, how his palms got all clammy as they walked down the hallway together towards Thomas' first ever cabinet meeting.

  
The second he got in the room, he shined and acted smug as little Alexander Hamilton introduced himself quickly and energetically. James would never forget the aftermath of the second meeting though, as Washington decided to follow Hamilton's advice and not aid the French. He's never seen Thomas more offended and angry and downright dejected. It was a solid ten minutes before James managed to calm down his ranting until Thomas couldn't take it and let James pull him into a hug while he muttered "It's not fair...they deserve our help..." And now, thinking about it, James wondered if it was only the French Thomas was talking about.

  
There were tears flowing down his cheeks and his hair was matted to his forehead, giving him the distinct look of a drowned puppy. A shuddery breath left Thomas' lips, James watching as his gaze traveled down.

  
The man's wrist were coated with blood that was leaking down from open wounds sluggishly.

  
"Oh my god..." James looked back up at him and he understood that Thomas was hurting, like he had said aloud last night. He just never realized the extent of it before a strangled sob escaped the bleeding man and James tore his mind away from the thought, the only thing mattering to him now was that he was needed. His hand went to the back of Thomas' neck and the other wrapped itself around his back before pulling him in and hugging him tight.   
"It's okay...we'll get you cleaned up, it's okay...."

  
"I....my meeting....I-I was gonna--"

  
"Quiet now...you can postpone it. It's you who needs help right now," James whispered softly and he briefly wondered if this was all just a bad dream, that he'd wake up again and be besides his boyfriend in bed and everything would be alright. But then he felt Thomas' fists clench around handfuls of his shirt and he knew this was all too real.


End file.
